Moulin Rouge
by Whojohnlockian of Baker Street
Summary: The Moulin Rogue. A place of nighttime pleasures, love, drama, and heart ache. Johnlock pairing. This is my first fan-fic so please be kind.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any BBC Sherlock characters and I respect them. I also don't own the rights to the movie The Moulin Rouge. This is purely for entertainment. Note that this is my first fan fiction I have ever written as I am open to suggestions. If you don't like Johnlock pairing then I'd suggest you'd leave this story and be on your way.

Paris, 1900

An intriguing man, with makeup of a mime with an outfit of a jester, was perched standing through a sunlight window pane on top of a roof, somewhere in Paris. The man Gregory Lestrade begins in talking in a pensive melody, "_There was a boy_" his face expresses of remembering a sad and distant memory, when it wasn't that long ago as he continues" _A very strange enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far. Very far. Over land and sea_."

The scenery changes, from the sadden jester, to over the roof tops of Paris. Passing by the Eiffel Tower into a place called 'Montmartre'. Passing through the gates of the town, through the busy people of the time, along with the passing by of a preacher "Don 't be fooled! Evil! Turn away from this village of sin! ". "_A little shy….and sad of eye_" continues Greg's voice passed the prostitutes. "_But very wise_…" sings Greg passed a few streets, drunkards"…was he" continued Greg's voice, and shops to all lead to a motel "_And then one day_…" continues Greg.

Going through one of the open windows of the motel's top floor reveals a late 20's sturdy, strong build of a blonde man with a beard growing. The man is in a corner of the room, head on his knees and a bottle of wine in his right hand. Papers, clothes, bottles of wine, and everything between was thrown in the room or on its walls, making the room look very messy. "_A magic day_…" sings Greg's voice. The image gets closer and closer to the blonde man "…._he passed my way_". The man looks up from his pose. "_And while we spoke of many things_.." An image of a type writer from the room comes forth. ".._Fools and kings_.." The said blonde man starts pacing around his typewriter. He was anxious, scared and confused. His courage took him over for he knew he must do this. ".._The greatest thing_.." He set down upon the typewriter, at first he didn't know what to write about, but then it came to him. He wrote with tears that started slow, then into silent sobs 'The greatest thing, you'll ever learn ("_You'll ever learn_.." Greg's voice inputs) is just to love ("_Is just to love_" the voice continues) and be loved ("_And be loved…._") in return' ("..._in return_"). He finishes that line with a shaky breath and a shaky hand has he moves the type writer to write out some more. 'The Moulin Rouge' he types but continues to type while speaking out loud of his thoughts.

"The Moulin Rouge" speaks the Blonde man as a memory of what the place was once like of its Ferris Wheel and theater like entrance shows in his mind. "A nightclub..." he says again with images of dancing men, jesters, and women with their skirts up high and showing clothes. "...a dance hall and a bordello..." he says as he continues "rules over by Mycroft Holmes." His memory portraits a tall man with a suit, an umbrella in one hand while leaning on it, and his stoic face that can rival any businessman or politician. "A kingdom of nighttime pleasures..." speaks the man again as he continues his story "...where the rich played with... ...the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld". He continues as his voice cracks a little "The most beautiful of all these...was the man who I loved. Sherlock Holmes" He remembers the man, piercing blue eyes that and see right into a person's soul and tell you everything about them, sharp and angular cheek bones that adorned his face, curly and untamable dark brown almost black locks of hair, a mind that surpasses its time ,and skin almost as pale and luminescent as snow, with a cig in long his fingers looking up from a dark room. "A courtesan, he sold his love to men. They called him "The Diamond Detective". And he was the star… of the Moulin Rouge". He pauses at his typewriter, putting a hand to his face, and trying with all his might to not breakdown and lose his emotional turmoil again as he continues to write once more "The man I loved" Looking out his window to see the Moulin Rouge. "...is…dead". He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, as if to come to terms what has happened.

He continues to write "I first came to Paris one year ago"…

Haha! Cliffhanger. Await to see what Chapter 2 reveals! :D

This is what the characters will be playing as per par of the movie...

John Watson: Christian

Sherlock Holmes: Satine

Irene Adler: Prostitute of the Moulin Rouge

Molly Hooper: One of the 3 friends in the beginning

Mycroft Holmes: Harold Zidler

Gregory Lestrade: Toulouse-Lautrec

Jim Moriarty: The Duke

Sally Donavan: The prostitute and lover of the Argentinean; Roxanne

Anderson: The Argentinean

Mrs. Hudson: Marie

Sebastian Moran: The henchman to the Duke

Anthea: Prostitute of the Moulin Rouge

Mike Stamford: Friend of Toulouse


	2. Chapter 2

It was 1899, the summer of love. I, John Hamish Watson, knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Mycroft Holmes or Sherlock Holmes. I boarded off the coach class of my train. Looking at my surroundings with delight and a grin, I picked up my two bags and headed off from the station. The world had been swept up in a Bohemian revolution, and I had traveled from London after serving with the Queen and Country in the war only to be shot, so I went to become a part of it. On the hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not, as my father said. A village of Sin he would say with a sneer. I walked past the gates of the village to come not to any place in France, but the center of the Bohemian world. Going past the Bar Absinthe; musicians, writers, and painters. They were known as the children of the Revolution.

I found myself at the Hotel Le Blanche. Went into the establishment, got myself a room to rent out from a creepy middle aged woman. I had come to live a penniless existence. Accepting the key from her I went to work. I set up my typewriter and began thinking. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom...and that which I believed in above all things: Love. Hearing my father's voice once more yelling at me "Always this ridiculous obsession with love!"

There was just one problem. I'd never been in love. Yeah, sure I dated a few girls and blokes in the army here and their but it was never Love! Completely gobsmacked, I went into thinking this more clearly while looking at the blank paper in front of me. Luckily just then, an unconscious Argentinean fell through my roof. Jumping back from the shock, I saw that he was swinging and dangling by a long belt around his body. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun.

"How do you do? My name is Henri Marie Raymond Gregory Lestrade -Montfa. Everyone calls me Greg or just Lestrade" spoke the man with a French accent as he continued into my room and twirling a cane he just happened to have. "I'm terribly sorry. We were upstairs rehearsing a play" Greg continued. "What?" I reply. A play; something very modern called 'Spectacular, Spectacular'. "It's set in Switzerland" he said with a smile and checking on his friend. Unfortunately, the unconscious Argentinean suffered from a sickness called narcolepsy. I moved over to check how the Argentinean was. Having a father as a doctor didn't hurt in this particular moment. "Perfectly fine one moment, then unconscious the next" spoke Lestrade while making snoring and chuckling noises afterwards. "How is he?" yelled a woman from above. I look up to see three other faces, a male and two females. The male on the far left was wearing an unusual top hat, with glasses, and was getting over weight. The middle person, a female; or at least I assumed was, wore a colorful suit, bad makeup, and had a foul temper. I assumed it was her who had spoken. The last female onto the right was a mousy blonde of a woman, with a pair of shades and a scarf.

"Now the play will not be ready to present to the financier tomorrow!" spoke the agitated woman again. Yep, I was right, it was her who spoke. "I still have to finish the music" exclaimed the mousy one. "We just have to find someone else who can read the part" spoke Lestrade up to his group above. "Now where on earth will we find someone to play a young, sensitive Swiss poet goat herder?" argued the same woman again. All the while, here I am silent and confused on the matter at hand with everyone starting at me with a cheeky grin plastered on their faces.

Before I knew it I was soon I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Argentinean who I later found out is named Anderson. I am now perched above the four below me on a ladder making it seem I was on top of the mountain. The image behind me is of a mountain. The loud tempered guy, I mean woman is named Audrey, The larger fellow is Mike Stampford, and the mousy woman is Molly. Molly at her station with her organ like instrument that had a lot of, I don't know, Bits 'n Bobs about it. Mike making sound effects from some camera equipment, Audrey looking flustered among us with her script in hand. She is the one directing this. Greg, who was walking around trying to sing a melody for this part, wasn't hitting it off at all. And then there was Anderson, he was asleep on the nearby piano. By this point of time he was now only dressed in his undergarments and shoes.

"The hills animate with the euphonious symphonies of descant" sang Greg as he was completely off tune with what Molly was playing. "Oh, stop! Stop!" spoke Audrey as she advanced to Molly, "Stop that insufferable droning! It's drowning out my words! Just stick to some decorative piano" she said with a flare of her hands as if to bring her point across. There seemed to me that there were artistic differences over Audrey's lyrics. The four gather into a circle as I was still up on the ladder trying to get a sense of what they wanted in this play. "A nun wouldn't say that about a hill" said Mike to the group." How about, "The hills are vital intoning the descant?" asked Molly from her musical instrument. They got louder with each other. "What about 'The hills quake and shake...''' spoke Greg. "No no", from Mike. Greg started to argue back but Anderson awoke which got them quiet "The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies"! he exclaimed. That lasted a moment as it would seem his sickness over took him once more. "The hills…the hills.." and "No no no" got louder and louder as I tried to speak to them over their chanting. "The hills" I'd say and a few times before I finally got fed up with it and used my booming voice onto them.

"The hills...are alive" I sang into the air above me, with all I got"...with the sound of...music". They were all stunned. Just starting at me like I was the Holy Grail, I probably was at that point of time. Then Anderson jumped from his sleeping form, stumbling onto the floor with shaky legs walks over to my direction. "The hills are alive with the sound of music. I love it!" he proclaimed. "The hills are alive...with the sound...of music" sang Molly, Greg, and Mike all at once. "It fits perfectly" gasped Molly as she turned to me. I started a small descend of steps from the ladder "With songs they have sung for a thousand years!" I sang once again with a smile from ear to ear. Anderson, Greg, Mike, and Molly all gasped and spoke of praise to me. "Incandiferous!" said the excited Greg. Audrey was still was impassive as ever. "Audrey" Greg started nervously "You should write the show together" he gestured to me and her. "I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Audrey. Greg's suggestion of me and Audrey writing the show together was not what Audrey wanted to hear. "Goodbye!" she yelled as she left slamming the door on her way out. I continued my descend down the ladder stopping with Greg pulling out a shot of something lime green in his glass "Here's to your first job in Paris" he said toasting to me. Molly is quick to respond in a hushed tone "Lestrade, Mycroft will never agree". Now turning to me "No offense but, have you ever written anything like this before?". "No". Anderson walks up to me, I'm still on the ladder, saying "The boy has talent! I like him" he said as he placed his hand swiftly on my trousers on where my cock is. I gasp in embarrassment. Anderson notices what he has done and removes his hand as fast as it came "Nothing funny" he gave a nervous chuckle" I just like talent". The group of four gather into a smaller circle as trying to whisper to one another. ""The hills are alive with the sound of music. With Christian, we can write the Bohemian revolutionary show we always dreamt of" spoke Greg in a reminiscent way. Molly quickly cutted in and sounded slightly out of breath " But, how will we convince Mycroft?". Lestrade had a plan.

'Sherlock' I typed into my typewriter.

They'd dress me in Anderson's best suit and say I was a famous English writer. Once Sherlock heard my poetry, he'd be amazed and insist that I write Spectacular, Spectacular. They were excited about this. But I kept hearing my father's voice: "You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a cancan dancer!" A bit not good, as I was going into panic mode. I quickly get off the ladder and ran to the ladder trying to descend as fast as I could back into my room. But the four stopped me as I was just starting my way down it. Yelling at me with worry in their voices of what I was bloody doing. "I can't write the show!". "Why Not?" asked Greg. "I don't know if I am a true Bohemian revolutionary". They were shocked from my answer. "Do you believe in beauty?" asked Greg. "Yes". "Freedom?" asked Anderson. "Yes". "Truth" asked Molly. "Yes". "Love?" asked Mike. That one knocked the wind right out of me. "Love? Love? Above all things, I believe in love" They loved my answer nodding to me as I continued, "Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!" I exclaim. By the end of that they four were smiling ear to ear and on the brink of tears from happiness. "See, you can't fool us! You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution!" said Greg. Giggling with joy, they pulled me up all saying "We can 't be fooled!". "To the writer of the world's first Bohemian revolutionary show!" toasted from Greg to me of the same green drink. It was the perfect plan. I was to audition for Sherlock and taste my first glass of absinthe.

After that, we all got pretty Knackered and legless from the drink. We started to sing to an imaginative green fairy from the bottle of absinthe. "I am the green fairy" she spoke.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music" she said while being a temptress of a fairy she was.

We then all sang together "Freedom, beauty, truth and love!" "The hills are alive with the sound of music" sang the fairy once more. Then we were off to the Moulin Rouge.

Ooooo :D I wonder what will happen at the infamous Moulin Rogue with Sherlock in the upcoming chapter.


End file.
